


Becoming (A Process)

by hollyhock (willowthorn)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowthorn/pseuds/hollyhock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually if you know enough trans people you start questioning things. Iwaizumi is not exempt from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming (A Process)

**Author's Note:**

> Gender is hard and different for everyone, and sometimes it takes years to find the words.

"How can you tell?" Morning light filters through the window, soft and gold as Hajime shuffles around the kitchen, hands busy making a single coffee for himself, a pot of tea for Tooru already steeping off to the side. "Tell what, Iwa-chan?" Tooru has that sing-song lilt to its voice, preparing for the set up of a joke. Hajime never asked something with his eyes down unless it was incredibly personal and embarrassing to him.

"How can you tell that you aren't cis?" Tooru pauses, steaming cup hovering half-way to its face before returning slowly to the counter. "Iwa-chan, are you coming out to me?" It's voice is still light - it doesn't want to get too serious and have Hajime shy away into the depths of his coffee.

"No..." There's hesitation, an unspoken 'not yet'. "I'm just... wondering." He taps at the filter. Tooru hums, leaning back to look out the window. It running through all the ways to explain, trying to sort out the difference between 'not human' and 'not cis' that were so tangled together when it came to its own gender. It's too early in the day for the hum of cicadas, too late for the chirp of birds, so it can only watch as a plane drags an artificial cloud across the sky, dividing the expanse of blue into sections.

"The gender people mark you as just doesn't... fit right." It eventually settles on. "Like getting a new uniform that just doesn't lay like your old one did, or wearing someone else's shoes even though technically you're the same size. You wear it, but you don't feel... good."

Hajime hums, drinking deeply from his warm cup. They don't talk about it for another year.

\------

Hanamaki comes out as questioning next, and Matsukawa follows soon after. Their presentation shifts slightly, each trying out skirts and bold prints and eyeliner and Matsukawa decides that makeup looks great on her (he tries out they and xyr and zem and still hasn't settled on a set so he uses 'he' and 'her' in the same sentence until he finds a set something that'll stick with her) and Hanamaki's hair gets longer, then shorter, then buzzed under, then ci pierces cier ears and eyebrow and starts wearing tight ripped jeans and Matsukawa's old too-big shirts. Ci's unapologetic with cier pronouns, and puffs out cier chest proudly to show off cier new tits - small, perky, never contained in a bra - whenever the whole group meets up.

They're in a clothing store when they next talk about it. "So what if you don't really want to present differently?" Hajime gestures to the dress in Tooru's right hand - teal, short cut, off-the-shoulder sleeves with a cut that's supposed to lengthen the legs and emphasise Tooru's non-existent breasts. "That one. You already have a white dress, and that'd work with the white belt you got two months ago."

Tooru hums, holding the dress to itself as if to model it. It would look good with the belt it got earlier, Hajime had a point. "Then you don't have to. A lot of people figure things out because they want to present and be received in a certain way because of their presentation, but a lot of people don't. It's like... you know what I said about it not fitting right? It's not _you_ that doesn't fit, it's the world around you more than you yourself. Y'know?"

The questions become more regular after that, and although Hajime had always, always been accepting - there was never any question that Tooru was an alien, there was never any hesitation to switch pronouns for Matsukawa (even if it sometimes took a day or two to make the switch stay), and he didn't even blink when Hanamaki announced cier genderfuck status proudly - it was something else watching him struggle through questioning himself, taking the principles he took as matter-of-fact for everyone else and see how they worked with him.

\-----

They go to pride together during their second year at university. Tooru and Hajime had planned to just march together, maybe have a quiet dinner after, catch up, talk about their studies and maybe spend some time crashed together at Tooru's apartment, holding hands and kissing on the couch before Hajime caught the late night train home. Of course, they meet up with Hanamaki and Matsukawa - dating again, going steady for 3 months after a small break - before hand, Matsukawa sitting on the stairs to a nearby café so Hanamaki could fix her makeup. They had caught sight of eachother, talking excitedly and before Hajime knew it, he was sitting on the steps too, eyes closed as Tooru smeared gold glitter high on his cheeks to match the silver highlight on its own lids, and Matsukawa was lending him one of her spare black skirts - he always carried a spare if he and Hanamaki were planning on going drinking or dancing, just in case. It fit him just fine, though it was a bit longer on Hajime.

The makeup felt heavy on his face, and the feeling of his thighs rubbing together as he walked was unfamiliar, though the freedom of movement was welcome.

He had to admit though, he did look great in all the selfies Tooru took of them together that day, and soon enough the heat of the march took away his discomfort, Tooru's hand warm and slightly sweaty in his own, the swell of music and the cry of voices grounding him in history, in hope so much bigger than himself. He held on to Tooru's hand, and knew that they were lucky.

\-----

"I don't think makeup is my thing." He says a little while later, over skype. His notes are laid out in front of him, distorted music coming softly from Tooru's end of the mic between the sounds of tapping.

"That's alright. How was the skirt?" Tooru says after a moment. Its voice had been getting deeper lately, though it still was - maybe always would be - lighter than his own.

"It was alright. I think I would've liked it better if I had something to stop my thighs rubbing together under it."

"I have some powder that helps with that if you want to try again later."

"Sure." There isn't as much hesitation as there would've been last year, but there is a pause as he grabs himself a drink. "What's your word count? You should be at 2,380."

"2,360. You distracted me, Iwa-chan! How am I supposed to keep working when all I can think about now is your thighs?"

"Mm... They can your reward after you finish your essay."

"I don't want Iwa-chan's disembodied thighs, how gross."

"Finish early and you can have the rest of me too."

\------

He meets Kuroo Tetsurou a month later, at a semester end party hosted by someone in his athletics club. He had been hanging back, having some water before starting in on another beer and trying to figure out how to explain to his host that not only was his music was shit, but twister was a horrible idea for a party game if there were any gymnasts what so ever involved - not only would they cheat, they'd look damn good doing it too and they should've just brought out the traditional beer-pong instead. Kuroo - tall, lanky in a way that still hadn't fully settled into lithe, and with a pomegranate-cherry cooler in hand, had slid up to him at some point during the night.

"So you're the infamous Arm-killer Champion, huh?"

"You accidentally break a guy's arm _once_ and suddenly, that's all people know you for." Hajime shrugs, smiling. "Iwaizumi Hajime."

"Kuroo Tetsurou. Hey, didn't you play volleyball in highschool?"

"Aobajosai, yeah. You went to... Nekoma, right?"

"Yeah! How's that setter of yours? I remember he seemed like he'd go pro."

"It. Oikawa uses it pronouns." He corrects automatically, not reacting as Kuroo pauses, posturing shifting so he was taller, a smile on his face.

"Ah, really? Sorry, I had assumed. What about you?"

"What about me?" Hajime frowns, eyes narrowed at Kuroo's smile. He seemed excited, but for what?

"Your pronouns, dude. I use he/his, mostly."

"Uh... he/his, still." He says slowly, the breath of hesitation after he states his pronouns leaving Kuroo leaning over him, curiosity on his breath.

"Still? Questioning, huh?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business." He draws in, shoulders tense against the new question and the shift in Kuroo's gaze. He glances around, wondering who might be listening. Would the look in their eyes change too? He had never noticed that before.

"Sorry, sorry! It's just, me too." Kuroo backs off, following his eyes to scan the crowd. "Listen, if you're uncomfortable talking about it that's fine. It's one thing to talk about others and another to talk about yourself, huh."

And that's true. That had been true for him for so many years. "I'm going to grab a beer. We can talk about this outside." Because he still doesn't know, because he's not sure he'll ever know, because he thinks he's cis some days - just a guy, just the boyfriend, just... somehow not right, like he can't click with cis guys the same way he used to when he's actually around them, like there's something so subtly different he can't put his finger on. And maybe Kuroo felt the same.

They end up sitting on the back porch, leaning back to watch the night-grey clouds roll slowly over the moon. As it turns out, they both had been questioning for a while, and Kuroo's partners had all came out early on in life - highschool or earlier. He had learnt a lot from the three of them, but nothing quite resonated consistently for him.

"Ok, so. Gender is a big ball of fuck, and it makes no sense to worry so much about what doesn't fit as what /does/." Kuroo hiccups, long fingers moving as if to pull the words slowly from his throat. "So if not being cis makes you feel good, then go for it I figure. There doesn't have to be any more to it."

"So, what makes you feel good?" Hajime says after a pause. The grass around his feet is damp, dew shining in the low light cast by the doors behind them. Small gems, like stars he hadn't seen in months, like the shine in Tooru's eyes when he actually called it Tooru, like the glitter on its eyelids last month, or the moisture on its lips after they had kissed after weeks of being apart... And he knows, it is what makes him happy. But it's not his everything, can't be his everything.

"Right now? This cooler, how this night smells... I don't know. I'd feel better if I could stretch out in a warm place for just a bit, not worry about things for an hour or two."

"Like a house cat."

"Like a house cat." Kuroo agrees with a chuckle. "How about you?"

"Oikawa." He was going to say more, because there's so much more to his life. He likes cool nights and how ice storms make trees look, and he couldn't imagine his life without the solid warmth of victory - against others, against himself, the burn in his muscles after a good workout. But maybe it was how the dew looked, or maybe it was the alcohol, but all that came out was that name.

"Dude, that is the gayest thing I've heard tonight." Kuroo is hiding his smile behind his hand, and Hajime is making a point of looking anywhere else.

"Yeah, shut up."

Neither of them figure things out in one swift motion that night. Kuroo keeps questioning - not out of dissatisfaction, but as part of a process of continual analysis, and Hajime is left to let things simmer. Again.

\------

"It's fine if you're cis, y'know." Tooru is sitting on his bed, flipping through one of his anatomy textbooks as Hajime stretches himself on the floor, paying careful attention to how his muscles move in concert with eachother - how his hips feel tight from sitting too long, how his upper back could benefit from some deeper stretches and how that influences the movement of his spine.

"I know that." He sighs, straightening up. "That's not the problem. I'm a masculine guy who likes masculine things. I don't really want or need to present differently. I don't feel differently regardless of how I dress."

"But?" Tooru rolls over, abandoning the book.

"But there's a difference between liking masculine coded things and being a cis dude."

Tooru smiles, sitting up now. "And?"

"And, I'm not a girl, but I can't... understand... cis guys anymore. It's like I'm trying to hold onto water. There's nothing really /there/, just the things I like, which are coded in a certain way, and nothing behind it. I don't want to be anything besides me."

"So who are you?"

"I don't know, that's the problem!" He growls, expression pinched. "I'm just a guy, and I love you, and I want to understand you better but I _can't._ I can't understand what it is to not be human, to want to dress in pastels and have flippy hair."

"Iwa-chan," Tooru's voice is soft, its hands warm and soft as it pulls him closer, carding through his hair. "I asked about _you_ , not about me."

"I'm..." He leans into the touch, closing his eyes as he breathes slowly, trying to figure out how to start. "I can't divorce it from the rest of me, or describe it in an aesthetic like you can. I told you, it's like there's nothing really there. That's just how it is with constructs, isn't it? So I keep on trying and I keep on coming up empty. It's fucking frustrating."

"Iwa-chan," Tooru coos, kissing his hair, hands moving to cup his chin. "Iwa-chan, look at me."

It's eyes are bright, a smile - soft, genuine, just for him - pulling on its lips.

"Hajime, I've poked at my gender for years and I've never felt _nothing._ You might be agender."

It doesn't quite fit, not when he first hears it, but it gives him pause. Nothing, having a blank, unelaborated upon space not in the place where a gender _should_  be but as gender itself was... Closer. It was something.

"You could've told me that from the start, shit-head."

"But then I couldn't have seen Iwa-chan's cute frustrated face!" He's poked between his eyebrows, his frown line forcibly smoothed by the pressure. "Was I right though?"

"Mm.... no. Guess your perception skills are getting rusty." He moves Tooru's fingers from his face, kissing its knuckles.

"But it's a start."

**Author's Note:**

> This is a trial in writing dialog, mostly


End file.
